


What do you know of my heart?

by Queenofthebees



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, Post-Canon, Requited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 11:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18498529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthebees/pseuds/Queenofthebees
Summary: “Daenerys wrote to me,” Sansa commented a moon turn later as they shared supper in his solar.Jon’s fingers gripped his goblet tightly as he raised his eyes to meet hers. “What did she want?”“She mentioned that you should look into how often your letters appear to go missing, since that is the only explanation for not returning them.”Jon felt his eyebrows crease in his impatience. “What did she want with you?”Sansa shifted in her seat, her hands falling into her lap. For a moment, she remained silent as her fingers clutched at her skirts and then released them again. Jon remained still as a statue, feeling as though he could barely breathe for fear of what she might say, if she will confirm what he already feared in his heart.“She said…” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “She commanded that I go to the capital and remarry Tyrion.”





	What do you know of my heart?

The words were blurring before his eyes, signalling to Jon that he should perhaps call it a night.  But then the light flickered across the red dragon emblem on the scroll in front of him, catching his eye. Releasing a sigh, he rubbed at his forehead, already feeling a throb beginning to stir as he reached for the rolled-up paper.

The band came lose easily, falling flimsily to the floor by his feet as he unrolled the letter and started to read.

_My dear nephew, Jon,_

_I have decided that, for lasting peace, the marriage between your sister, the Lady Sansa and my hand, Lord Tyrion Lannister, should be renewed._

_As King in the North, I implore you to find a good match with someone. There are plenty of ladies here in the capital who would be suitable – and keep our kingdoms close. But the Lannisters were invaluable to us during the war and Tyrion is Lord of Casterly Rock. I feel like this is the best match Sansa could have, and I’m sure you would agree._

_I do not doubt that you will do what is best for your dear sister._

_Your loving aunt,_

_Queen Daenerys._

Jon tossed the letter aside with a barely contained snarl that he could only just cover with his mouth. Swiping his lips harshly, he shoved the chair back in his annoyance and picked up the abandoned scroll from the floor and tossed it into the fire.

He knew exactly what Daenerys was doing.

She had never asked him why he had withdrawn from her arms and her bed but he suspected that she was aware that perhaps his heart had never truly been hers. As long as Sansa remained his sister, it hadn’t been a real issue for her, perhaps she had thought she would win him around in the end. But when the truth came out and Sansa became available to him, Daenerys had done everything since the war ended to stop any idea of a marriage between them.

These ladies she spoke of likely didn’t exist. He would bet that they were made up temptations to lure him back down south and into her bed – knowing that Sansa would never forgive him for going south at all, let alone into the Queen’s arms once more.

Tyrion had said that it had been a sham marriage when he had dared to bring the subject up all that time ago. But Jon hadn’t missed the way the Lannister’s eyes had honed in on Sansa, the desire clear in his face, the same look many Lords, too many in Jon’s opinion, sent Sansa’s way.

He would let himself be stabbed to death a thousand times over if it meant he could protect Sansa from yet another forced marriage.

***

“Daenerys wrote to me,” Sansa commented a moon turn later as they shared supper in his solar.

Jon’s fingers gripped his goblet tightly as he raised his eyes to meet hers. “What did she want?”

“She mentioned that you should look into how often your letters appear to go missing, since that is the only explanation for not returning them.”

Jon felt his eyebrows crease in his impatience. “What did she want with you?”

Sansa shifted in her seat, her hands falling into her lap. For a moment, she remained silent as her fingers clutched at her skirts and then released them again. Jon remained still as a statue, feeling as though he could barely breathe for fear of what she might say, if she will confirm what he already feared in his heart.

“She said…” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “She commanded that I go to the capital and remarry Tyrion.”

“No,” he snapped before he could stop himself. Sansa’s eyes burst open, wide with confusion as she found his gaze. A slight pink coloured her cheeks, her full lips parted. She shook her head slightly and took another deep breath.

“She is the queen,” she replied softly, her eyes lowered to the floor.

“I’ll talk to her,” Jon promised. Sansa’s face hardened for a brief second, so quick he would have missed it if he had blinked, before she turned to him with a sweet smile.

“You need not bother yourself about me Jon,” she replied primly, picking up her fork again. “I know my duty.”

“Family comes first, does it not?” he grunted, scowling at his plate but feeling a childish pride at the petty dig. Sansa, however, did not take the comment well.

“I will not take lessons about my mother’s words from you,” Sansa said slowly, her anger measured as always, like a true lady. But the calmness of her reply instantly filled him with shame.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted instantly. He reached for her hand across the table but she retreated it from his reach, tucking it safely into her skirts. She was looking away from him again. So, Jon slipped out of his chair and walked to her chair. He fell to his knees in front of her. “Forgive me Sansa. I was angry, but I am angry at Daenerys for forcing this upon you. I should not take it out on you, my…lady.”

“Oh, get up you idiot,” Sansa huffed, but her lips were fighting back a smile, and it made Jon smile back. It is so easy to smile with Sansa around him. And the thought that she will be whisked away from him, leaving him in this cold castle with empty halls and an even emptier heart makes his smile drop again.

“I will not let you be forced into another marriage, Sansa,” he promised. “You’ll stay here, until you, yourself, decide to leave.”

***

“There is another option you know,” Tormund commented, pausing to let out a belch. “Why don’t you just marry Sansa?”

“Firstly, Sansa deserves better than another forced marriage. And, even if by some miracle she wanted to be with me, Daenerys will be livid if I marry Sansa without her permission,” Jon sighed, rubbing his face with both hands.

“And she won’t give you that permission?” Tormund clarified, looking into his cup as though that was more interesting than Jon’s love problems.

“Not a chance,” Jon scoffed. “She’s marrying Sansa off so that _I_ don’t marry her.”

“What about her precious Targaryen name?” the wildling said, taking another sip. Jon lowered his hands to frown at his friend.

“What about it?”

“You said she can’t have children,” Tormund explained with a disinterested sniff. “What about you approach the subject about the line of succession to press the point that you need to marry?”

“I have mentioned that but she will never let Sansa be that woman. She knows I’m in love with Sansa.”

“You southerners and your pointless letters,” Tormund scoffed. He rolled his eyes before he leaned across the table. “No, words mean nothing, as you know. You go to her court, or she comes here, or you meet somewhere in the middle. Regardless, you bring it up in front of other people. If she still refuses, she risks looking like a petty person putting her jealousy above the needs of her kingdom. Or she could be forced to concede. Either way, you’ll be married to Sansa by the end of the year I’m sure.”

“I can’t go back to the capital,” Jon huffed, finally reaching over for his cup. “Daenerys will find a way to keep me there again.”

Tormund smirked. “Only Sansa is allowed to have you in chains.”

Jon scowled and Tormund’s booming laugh echoed around them as Jon’s cheeks heated up, images swirling in his head which had no place being there. And Tormund clearly knew what his words had caused Jon to think of. The wildling continued to grin at him as he leaned forward and punched Jon’s shoulder.

“Get home to your woman Snow,” he commented. “While you still have the chance.”

***

As they rode through the gates of Winterfell, he felt as though he could retch there and then. A wagon was parked in the courtyard, the three-headed dragon staring at him, judging him.

He heaved a long sigh as he tied up his horse and made his way out of the stables towards the hall.

Daenerys was sitting in the main chair, as she had done the first time she visited. Sansa sat to her right, a small apologetic smile on her lips when she caught his eye. Tyrion had the decency to look ashamed.

“Your Grace,” Jon said briskly, bowing his head slightly. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I’ve had enough of the games nephew,” Daenerys replied coolly, her mouth settling in a thin line as her cold gaze raked over him. “Sansa is the key to the north, and the north will not bend willingly.”

You don’t need the north, Jon thought sullenly but he had spent long enough with Daenerys to know not to test her patience. Even without dragons, she was not to be underestimated.

“Marrying Sansa to a Lannister will not make the North more accommodating,” he said instead, giving Tyrion a small nod. “No offence.”

Tyrion waved him off. “Believe me, I have said this myself.”

“Sansa,” Daenerys turned to her suddenly with a poisonous smile. “A beauty like you doesn’t belong up here, hidden away from the world.”

Sansa stiffened, her eyes flickering to Jon for a brief second, enough for him to catch the flash of fear in them. And then she turned to Daenerys with a forced smile.

“I appreciate the offer Your Grace,” she murmured demurely. “But Winterfell is my home and I would like to remain here. I am sure Tyrion has told you about why I have no great desire to go south again.”

Daenerys had the decency to blush even as she scowled with her displeasure. “I hope you are not suggesting I would treat you the way the Lannisters did.”

“Of course not, Your Grace,” Sansa replied smoothly. “You are no Cersei.”

Tyrion bit back his smile before Daenerys could see it. Behind him, Tormund cleared his throat.

“What about marrying her to me?” Jon blurted. Daenerys’ nostrils flared as her narrowed eyes fell upon him.

“Jon,” Sansa whispered, straightening in her chair like a wolf ready to pounce in and protect him.

“It would be a far better match,” Tyrion stated, turning to Daenerys, who had now moved her murderous gaze onto him. “The northerners prefer their own to lead them. Marrying Sansa to Jon will still bring them into the Targaryen fold, so to speak, but in a much gentler way.”

“Jon could have avoided all of this mess by marrying me when I offered,” Daenerys snapped, standing and glaring down at him. “But you decided you would rather stay here with your pretty, precious snows and grey castles. You chose this over the throne and the blood of dragons.”

“And I would again,” Jon affirmed, resisting the urge to look at Sansa so that she could see the truth in his words. “The north is a part of me and I will always belong here.”

***

“You shouldn’t have angered her,” Sansa said gently when they had returned to his solar. Jon glared at the flames before him.

“Fuck her,” he snarled. Sansa scoffed.

“Yes, I believe you’ve already tried that.”

The words stung harder than a slap to the face and he spun around to stare at her in shock but Sansa was determinedly not looking at him as she sat down at his desk.

“I’m not planning on doing so again,” Jon snapped. He picked up the poker and stabbed at the logs on the fire, the hissing of the flames making him grimace as he imagined Daenerys’ anger at his continued refusal. He sighed as Sansa remained silent.

“I never loved her,” he added, turning to look at her.

Sansa still remained silent but he could see her chest rising and falling with a deep sigh and her shoulders dropping, as though his words had given her some relief.

His throat suddenly felt dry and he knew it was nothing to do with the heat from standing next to the blazing fire. He gave a thick swallow, and a deep breath, sucking in courage.

“Does that please you?”

Her inhale was sharp, her eyes equally so when she turned her head quickly to look at him.

“It isn’t my business Jon.”

“Do you know the other reason she wants you married off?” he persisted, moving to stand beside her. He took her hand, let his hand cup her cheek as he urged her to look up at him.

“Enlighten me.”

“Because she is jealous,” he whispered. Sansa’s delicate brows pulled together for a brief second of confusion before she shook her head. Ever the true lady, she did not roll her eyes but he could see the urge in her to do so, and it made him smile fondly. “She is. She knows my heart Sansa.”

Her tongue peeked between her lips, swiping quickly along her bottom lip, her eyes lowering shyly. “And, what is your heart Jon?”

“Oh Sansa,” he breathed, kneeling before her and pressing his head to hers. “You are far too clever not to see it now.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“It is you, sweetheart,” he confessed, reaching up to cup both of her cheeks, feeling them rise with her smile.

Daenerys’ anger was a terrifying thought and he knew it would take a lot of sneaky political moves and the help of other people like Tyrion. But as he kissed Sansa for the first time, he couldn’t bring himself to worry about it.


End file.
